Hell Hath No Fury Like Protective Fathers
by therunawaypen
Summary: Monique Bond come home from a date with a split lip and tears in her eyes. James wants blood, and Q has no intention of stopping him. Sequel to Working Parents and Meet Baby Bond *Part of the "Meet the Bonds" series*
1. Chapter 1

It was a quiet Friday evening in the Bond home. James was on mandatory leave after a high risk operation in Moscow, and Q had made sure his leave coincided with his husband's. They were going to have a nice weekend with their children, one that was long overdue. But for now, Charmain and Andrew were tucked in their beds, and the twins were playing a board game in the living room before their own bedtime. Q and James were lounging on the couch watching their boys; Q leaned against James's chest while the 00 agent played with his hair gently.

The only one not in the house for the evening was Monique, but both Bond parents had been aware of her upcoming date and had agreed to allow the teen her freedom for the evening, even extending her curfew to midnight.

So when the front door opened and shut at only a quarter past ten, and the sounds of footsteps quickly made their way to the staircase, both Bond parents knew something was wrong.

"Monique?" Q called out, getting up from the couch, "Honey, is that you?" Both Q and James made their way to the front hall to greet their daughter, who was halfway up the stairs.

Monique stopped her climb up the stairs, but didn't turn to face her fathers, "Yeah dad, I'm home…"

James and Q shared a look. Monique's voice was tight, and it wasn't full of its usual effervescence.

"You're home awfully early." James noted, "Not that I mind, of course, but we thought you'd be out later."

Monique shook her head, keeping her face away from her parents, "It didn't turn out the way I expected."

Q blinked at the odd choice of words, "Did something happen?" He was already partway up the stairs, following his daughter.

That was when James noticed the torn strap of his daughter's dress, and how she was doing her best to hold the dress in place. Her blonde hair, which Q had spend nearly an hour and a half helping her curl to perfection, was now rumpled and flattened in parts.

And now he could hear sniffling.

"Monique?" Q placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him and James.

The oldest Bond child was a wreck, for want of a better phrase. Her mascara was running down her cheeks in black streaks, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

James almost didn't notice those things because his eyes were focused on his daughter's split lip, and the dark bruise that was forming around it. "He _hit_ you?" He ground out, clenching his fist.

Monique looked down, "It was a lucky shot, I should have been able to block it…"

"Monique, we don't care about if you should have been able to block it or not." Q shook his head, wiping away the flecked blood on her lip, "The point is you shouldn't have had to defend yourself in the first place."

"What happened?" James asked, firm. It was only his grip on the stair railing that kept him from driving his fist through the wall at the thought of someone striking his baby girl.

There was a moment when Monique didn't say anything. James knew the feeling, her reluctance to admit weakness, but he kept his eyes trained on her until she spoke, "It was after dinner, we were in his car. He…he wanted…and I didn't…" Monique shook her head, unable to finish her sentences.

She didn't need to.

Q took a long, shaky breath, "Go get changed, baby girl." He said quietly, "I'll make us some tea, and we can take a look at that lip once you're cleaned up."

Monique nodded, thankful for the small reprieve as she made her way to her room. Q and James walked back down the stairs to the kitchen. They passed the twins on their way there, but both boys, thankfully, said nothing about the exchange.

The couple stood in silence in the kitchen while Q put the kettle on the stove. Neither knew what to say, or even if they had the strength to speak without resorting to curses and screams.

James couldn't take it anymore, driving his fist against the granite countertop. "Damnit…I should have followed her…should have let her take her side arm…"

"You know she wouldn't have allowed either of those things…" Q hung his head. James could see the small signs of Q's agitation: the tightness in his shoulders, the rigid posture, the deadpan in his voice. Q took a breath, "There's only one person to blame for what happened."

"We'll have to convince Monique that she is not to blame…" James nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"_I'm _going to reassure our daughter." Q nodded, pouring tea into two mugs, _"You_ are going to find that son of a bitch and bring his head back to me on a platter." He turned to look at James, "Is that understood, _007?_"

James saw the look in Q's eyes, and knew the only reason Q wasn't out there hunting down the bastard responsible himself was because he knew James was far better suited for the job, "Affirmative."

* * *

The date had been a bust, so Arthur had opted to head to a pub with some friends. So what if the bird had left him with a case of blue balls? There were plenty of other gals who wouldn't be so obnoxiously uptight about having a good shag. But for now, getting shitfaced had seemed like a good substitute.

He stumbled to his car, giggling to himself about the phone numbers he had collected. He would be in for a _good_ week, he noted as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Good evening."

Arthur blinked, looking up at his rearview mirror to see a man sitting in the backseat of his car. "What the hell…?" He reached to open his door.

Only to find it already locked and jammed.

The man smirked, "You and I are going to have a talk about the proper way to treat women."


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur groaned as he opened his eyes. How much did he _drink_ last night? It couldn't have been that much…He reached up to rub his sore temple—

Only to find that he was bound.

Adrenalin and panic cleared his mind as he tested the strength of his bindings. He was tied to a chair with thick lengths of rope, and he didn't recognize the room he was in. Based on the thick stench of salt water and low-tide alone, he would guess that he was by a dock somewhere.

And he wasn't alone.

"You're awake. Wonderful, I want you to be sober for this."

The new voice was coming from a shadowy corner. As the owner of said voice stepped forward into the light, Arthur could make out the profile of a tall man. That's when it came back to him.

_"You and I are going to have a talk about the proper way to treat women."_

This was the man who kidnapped him from his own car!

"Who the hell are you?" Arthur winced as the sound of his own voice sent a shock through his temple. He was still hung over.

The man stepped towards him, until they were toe to toe. "I think it's safe to say that I'm a concerned party that isn't pleased about how you've treated his little girl."

_Girl?_ _What the hell? _Arthur wracked his mind for what the mad man was referring to. Then he remembered his date, "Is this about Monica?"

A fist drove itself into his jaw with a sickening _thud_, sending a jolt of pain throughout Arthur's head. He could already taste the blood welling in his mouth.

The man put his lips to Arthur's ear, "Her _name_ is Monique." He hissed, "And I will make sure you remember that name for the rest of your life."

* * *

Q did not like consoling his daughter; he hated seeing his normally strong willed and independent baby reduced to tears and curled up in the fetal position on her bed. He had stayed up all night with her, holding her against his chest and murmuring soft words in her ear.

Now, in the early morning hours, Monique had cried herself out, but had refused to let go of Q while she slept. It was a habit that she had as an infant, and while Q missed the days when his little girl was still a child, his heart broke knowing what had caused her to revert back to her childhood days.

He ran a hand through her hair, feeling the fine blonde tresses between his fingers. Try as he might, he couldn't help but feel…well, helpless. With all his resources as the Quartermaster of MI6, and James's training as a 00 agent, they hadn't been able to protect their little angel. He wanted to vow that it would never happen again, but he was still sick to his stomach with agony for his little girl and rage towards the one responsible.

A small chime sounded from Q's cell phone. Nothing too loud or obnoxious (such as the 'Ode to Joy' the children had set to his phone for when they called), it was a clear sign it was James.

It wasn't an incoming call, just a text message. Not even a text message, just a photo attachment. Though he had a pretty good idea what might be in the picture, he opened it none the less.

There was a young man in the picture, and he was tied to a chair. His face, while no doubt handsome in a previous life, was already covered in dark bruises. One of his eyes was already swollen shut, and his mouth was spewing blood.

James hadn't sent a message with the photo, but he didn't need to. He knew exactly who that was and what was happening.

Q noted that several of the boy's fingers were in odd angles and oddly discolored. Good, Q thought, the bastard deserves it for laying a hand on Monique the way he did.

_It's a start._ Q sent the message to James, feeling more at ease now that he knew justice was being carried out.

"Is that Papa?"

Q looked down at Monique, who was rubbing her eyes sleepily, "Yeah, baby girl. It's Papa."

She looked at the phone, "He went after Arthur, didn't he?"

So that was the bastard's name. No matter, "Yes." Q didn't bother lying to Monique. She had been training with both her fathers long enough to spot a lie, "He's taking care of him right now."

Monique took the phone from Q's hand, looking at the picture, "Papa's holding back. He didn't even break any bones in the face."

Q had to resist the urge to smirk. Monique was definitely James's daughter, "Did you _want _him to break his face?"

There was a moment's pause, and Q knew that his daughter was seriously considering the offer, "No," She said finally, "I don't want Papa to kill him or anything, I'd hate for either of you to get in trouble at work for abusing your power." She shook her head, cuddling into Q's side, "Though if Papa wants to deliver a swift kick to Arthur's balls for me, I wouldn't object."

A snort escaped Q before he could stop himself, "Of course, Mo." He took the phone from her, sending a quick message to James.

It was a few minutes later that there was a response from James.

This one was a video attachment.

James had set the phone to record Arthur, whose face was drawn in horror as James lifted a foot, only to turn into pure agony as the 00 agent delivered a bone-breaking stomp to the young man's family jewels. The boy's screams were tinny and pathetic through the speakers of the phone.

"Play it again." Monique nodded, watching the screen.

They had just finished playing the video for the third time when Q heard footsteps down the hallway. Not wanting his younger children to see their father being violent, he closed the message, just in time for Andrew to open the bedroom door.

"Daddy…" The young boy rubbed his eyes, his blond hair mussed from sleep, "Why are you in Momo's room?"

"Momo and Daddy had a sleepover." Q smiled, waving his youngest son over to the bed, "Did you sleep good, Andy?"

Andrew nodded, crawling up onto the bed and squeezing between Q and Monique, "Can you have a sleepover in my room next?"

Q chuckled, "Of course, Andy." He kissed the top of his head, "I take it your brother's are still asleep?"

"Greg and John are still snoring." Andrew wrinkled his nose, "Where's Papa?"

Monique smiled softly, "He's getting breakfast. I wanted some Cinnamon Roll French Toast from that café we went to last month."

Andrew's eyes lit up, "Oo, tell Papa I want some too!"

Q smiled softly, making sure to send a text to James so he would know to stop and get breakfast before he returned home.

While Andrew and Monique were talking about their favorite breakfast foods, Q received another text.

_All done, on my way to get breakfast._

Q didn't bother asking what happened to Arthur. He wasn't important anymore.


End file.
